


butterflies and storms and ooey-gooey feelings

by sunsetozier



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Boys In Love, Fluff, M/M, and find each other again, lost contact, they were friends in college
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:02:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22732216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunsetozier/pseuds/sunsetozier
Summary: Ben Hanscom is the human definition of sunshine weaved into a warm heart and a generous soul and everything good that a person could possibly be. They met in their English 101 class freshman year, and they just clicked, and Bill has never felt as understood as he did when Ben looked him in the eyes and smiled and nodded and spoke with wisdom that an eighteen year old shouldn’t have.(Ben looks at Bill and sees the stars, glimmering and beautiful and breathtaking. He looks when Bill isn’t looking and he smiles and feels his heart flutter with joy and something else, but Bill doesn’t know that.)(At least, he doesn’t know ityet.)
Relationships: Bill Denbrough/Ben Hanscom
Comments: 2
Kudos: 38
Collections: IT ❀ Valentine's Day Fic Exchange





	butterflies and storms and ooey-gooey feelings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MilkyBabyBunny](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MilkyBabyBunny/gifts).



> this is a bit more rushed and not as long as i wanted it to be, but it's p cute i think! happy valentine's day!!
> 
> EDIT: i tried posting this in the morning when i woke up but apparently it messed up and didn't actually post even though i thought it did? for some reason it just saved as a draft so maybe i pressed the wrong button and then i was busy all day so i didn't notice, so i'm finally posting it now, at like 11 pm pacific time, so it's basically late and i am so sorry!! i didn't realize it didn't post this morning or else i would have made sure to fix it before leaving and getting caught up in my plans and stuff!! i think i might write the longer, more detailed version of this or write something else for you (you being the person i wrote this fic for, if that isn't clear) to try and make it up to you because i feel so bad about not realizing it didn't post aaaaa

Two days after moving back into the city, Bill finds the Read More Book Store.

It’s a hidden gem of a place, the front entrance tucked between a Starbucks and a Marshall’s, easy to overlook, but Bill is here to explore and his eyes catch on the sign by chance, grabbing his attention and bringing curiosity bubbling to the surface. Glancing around, he watches as everyone else walks by without looking in the direction of the store, which only makes Bill even more intrigued.

Weaving between the people walking past him, he makes his way to door, his hands in his pockets and his brows pinched together, pausing a few feet away from it with his head tilting slightly to the side. The font on the sign is simplistic yet bold, the letters curvy and smooth, almost like cursive but not just quite, pleasant to look at and easy on the eyes. After a moment of hesitation, he brings a hand out from where they’re tucked into his pockets and reaches forward, pushing the door open and stepping into a short hallway leading back into the store, almost ominous in the fact that the hallway itself doesn’t seem to be lit, though the smell of worn down books is familiar and relaxing enough to ease his mind.

There are a few people milling around when Bill makes his way inside, stacks and stacks of books lining the walls and filling tables and bookshelves, the spines frail from years of reading and rereading over and over again. Despite there not being much noise, the store doesn’t feel all that quiet, the sounds of living filling the air, shuffling feel over the floor and steady breathing as pages flip and turn, the atmosphere so calm that it fills Bill’s lungs with something wonderful, makes him feel refreshed when he breathes it in.

“You look familiar.”

Bill blinks once, caught off guard, and turns his head to the side, finding a pair of expressive brown eyes looking at him curiously. “Um…”

Those brown eyes narrow, and the person’s lips tug down slightly. “I’ve seen your picture somewhere.”

Bringing up a hand to rub at the back of his neck, Bill lifts a shoulder in a shrug and offers, “Well, I, uh… I’ve actually, um—I’ve wruh-written a few books, so you m-muh-might’ve seen my puh-picture on the author’s page, or suh-something like that.”

The person, with short hair and a kind face and something inviting in their features, shakes their head, just slightly. “No, it’s not that, even though that’s pretty cool. I’ve seen you… do you know a Ben?”

“Do I—?” Bill stops, brows quirking up in surprise at the question, looking over his shoulder as if expecting to find someone there, only to turn back around with a few slow blinks. “Yeah, actually, I, um—I was fruh-friends with a Ben, when we were in cuh-college. I lost his nuh-number after graduation, though, and huh-haven’t found it since. Do you… do you nuh-know him?”

Suddenly, the person is beaming, clapping a hand on Bill’s shoulder and telling him, “Oh, man, this is _perfect._ I’m Mike, by the way. Been friends with Ben since kindergarten, and he would tell me all about you whenever we met up during college, since he went to NYU and I stayed in Maine. He still has a picture with you on his desk, man. Like, it’s on display and everything. He’s gonna be so happy to see you. If you _wanna_ see him, I mean—he’s in the back right now, but I can call him out here.”

“If I—oh my god, I would l-luh- _love_ to see him!”

“Awesome,” Mike says, grinning. “Stay here, I’ll be right back.”

With a nod, Bill stays.

Here’s the thing:

They were inseparable, back in college.

Ben Hanscom is the human definition of sunshine weaved into a warm heart and a generous soul and everything good that a person could possibly be. They met in their English 101 class freshman year, and they just clicked, the author and the poet, and Bill has never felt as understood as he did when Ben looked him in the eyes and smiled and nodded and spoke with wisdom that an eighteen year old shouldn’t have. They had movie nights and study sessions in the library and shared jokes and music recommendations and sometimes passed things they’ve written to the other to see what they thought of it. Bill has his childhood friends, of course, and he loves them in all of their annoying habits and loud laughter and long histories together, but Ben was something different. Ben was—Ben is—special to him.

So, when Bill changed his number after moving to California and forgot to tell Ben and couldn’t find out where he had Ben’s number written, it had really sucked. Because it isn’t like they had a falling out, it isn’t like there was a big fight and they stopped getting along—Bill just forgot to write Ben’s number down, and then they didn’t talk for over five years because there was no way to contact each other.

That’s why, when Mike comes back with Ben by his side, Bill doesn’t question it when his heart skips a beat in his chest and his face lights up like a Christmas tree. It makes sense to be excited, after all.

The next morning, they meet at a diner for breakfast, and Ben tells him, “I’ve read your books.”

“You huh-have?” Bill asks, genuinely surprised, though he probably shouldn’t be. For four years straight, Ben made it clear that he intended on being Bill’s biggest fan and reading every single thing he had published, but that was a while ago and Bill was never sure if Ben was being serious about that.

But Ben looks borderline offended, and maybe a little confused, when he tilts his head to the side and says, “Yeah, of course I have. I said I would, and, even if I didn’t, you’re an insanely good writer.”

Bill has read more negative reviews about his books than he’d like to admit. “I am?”

“You’re my favorite author by, like, a long shot.”

But those reviews mean nothing compared to the genuine glint in Ben’s eyes.

Read More Book Store is owned by Ben’s friend, Mike, though Ben works there part time on the weekends. He spends his weeks running his own architecture firm that he’s built from the ground up on his own. It’s incredible, really—Ben talks about blueprints and contracts and tells stories of his success and how hard he’s worked to get it, and even though he’s still just a beginner firm trying to find traction in the city and doesn’t get a whole lot of business just yet, it’s something to be proud of and Bill makes sure to say as such, sitting across from Ben at a coffee shop because it’s been three days since they had breakfast together and now that Bill has seen Ben again, he doesn’t really want to stop.

“It’s not that big of a deal,” Ben tries to say, shrugging his shoulders and sipping his coffee while his features tint pink in the cheeks, face flushing at the praise.

“Yeah, it is,” Bill insists. “It’s a huh-huge deal! That’s incredible!”

(“You’re gonna do great,” Bill had insisted, when Ben was frowning down at his assignment in disdain and debating if he should drop out of school. “You’re guh-gonna be incredible.”)

It hits him around the sixth time that they hang out, this time with Ben inviting Mike and a girl named Beverly, while Bill brings Richie, Eddie, and Stan, just to introduce each other to the friends they told each other about in college. Richie is throwing fries at Stan, Eddie is chatting pleasantly with Mike, and Beverly is saying something that makes Ben throw his head back with a deep belly laugh.

Something flutters in Bill’s tummy, butterflies and storms and ooey-gooey feelings and—yeah, maybe, in a way, he had felt like this in college. Maybe, in a way, he had been… infatuated with Ben. Crushing on. Borderline in love with, but in a naïve sort of way, not really understanding what love is but having it stir within him nonetheless, an undefinable congloberation of soft and sweet and cutesy sort of things. But, the thing is, it’s not just college Bill feeling these things—it’s current Bill. It’s almost-thirty Bill. It’s this Bill, at this table in this restaurant looking at Ben with feeling his eyes form into heart because he’s—

Yeah. Yeah, he’s in a little bit of love with Ben Hanscom, and he has been since they were eighteen.

And that’s… that’s just fine. It is, because it isn’t new, and it isn’t necessarily a bad thing. It’s a scary thing, maybe, having to come to terms with it so quickly, so suddenly, while surrounded by people who are talking and laughing and having a good time, but it isn’t bad. Because this is Ben, and anything with Ben is incapable of being bad. That’s just how it is, and that’s just how it always will be.

(Ben looks at Bill and sees the stars, glimmering and beautiful and breathtaking. He looks when Bill isn’t looking and he smiles and feels his heart flutter with joy and something else, but Bill doesn’t know that.)

(At least, he doesn’t know it yet.)

Sometimes, Bill’s writing speaks for him.

He isn’t a poet, not like Ben, but he expresses himself in the things he writes, pours out his heart and puts it on display for people to examine on the page, and he reveals parts of himself that he hasn’t yet faced without really meaning to. Most of his books are horror stories because he’s had nightmares since he was a kid, sleep paralysis and night terrors and insomnia all mixing together to fuel late night writing sessions where he describes the things he dreams about during the rare occasions he actually sleeps, and it’s because of this that it’s such a surprise when was he writes isn’t scary.

In the middle of the night, hopped up on coffee and sugar and sleep deprivation, he starts to write a love story, about people in their early twenties, finishing college and trying to prepare for the rest of their lives and having hearts tied together by a red string. One of the characters writes poetry. Bill doesn’t think this is too obvious a similarity until after he impulsively emails a rough draft of the first few chapters to Ben and realizes that it’s the most obvious thing he could have possibly done. It spells out his feelings with blatant bright lights in the sky for everyone to see and there’s no way Ben won’t see it, too.

Ben knocks on Bill’s door the next afternoon, because they’re apartments are only a few blocks apart and knowing each other’s addresses means not having to worry about losing phone numbers anymore, and he holds up a printed out copy of what Bill sent him and he says, “I think it’s really good.”

Bill steps back to let Ben inside, if only to give himself a moment to ease his racing heart. “You do?”

“Yeah,” Ben says, “but the main character’s an idiot.”

And now his heart is racing again. “He is?”

Ben nods decisively. “Only an idiot would go so long without making a move.” Then, before Bill can do much more than barely process those words, he says: “You’re an idiot, Bill.”

“I’m—” Bill shakes his head, closes the door and looks at the ceiling. “What do you m-muh-mean?”

There’s an exasperated sort of sigh, followed by the fluttering of papers being tosses onto Bill’s cound, and then there’s hands cupping his face and tilting it down to meet shimmering eyes and Ben is asking, “Did you really think I wouldn’t see what the story was really about?”

“You,” Bill says, not thinking. He flinshes. “I mean—”

“I know it’s about me,” Ben says. “I know it’s about you, too. So, make a move. Don’t be an idiot.”

Bill, despite the situation, lets out a snort. “I don’t think I nuh-know how.”

Ben smiles and shakes his head again, fond and amused and oh so lovely. “Then be _my_ idiot.”

“I think—” Bill pauses, sucks in a sharp breath that his lungs are begging for as his heart flips and flutters in his chest, light and airy and overjoyed. “I think I cuh-can do that. Or, I can… I can truh-try to.”

“Yeah?” Ben murmurs, his eyes wide, hopeful and happy.

More sure of himself, Bill nods. “Yeah.”

And when Ben beams again, the smile stays in place until Bill kisses it away, only to show up again the second that they pull away from each other, never wavering, never falling. It is, Bill believes, the most stunning smile he has ever, _ever_ seen.

He never wants to look away.


End file.
